The Clever Little Red-Headed Girl
by storybycorey
Summary: Just some season 7 against-the-door PWP for your pleasure


She's behind him the second he reaches the door, hot, liquid, molded to his back like potter's clay. "Having trouble, Mulder?" she purrs. Her cat-that-caught-the-canary voice makes his balls ache, and his fingers fumble stupidly with the keys at the lock. And then there are her hands, her fingernails, beneath his shirt and flicking at his nipples.

"Christ, Scully," he grunts, "Just give me a fucking minute here." He's sweating, and her sharp little teeth through the cotton of his shirt don't help much. She started this, wearing that… that _ensemble_ , smirking across the table at dinner and pretending her damn nipples weren't poking right through her blouse.

"Mulderrrr," she whines, and her pelvis grinds right against his ass, in his apartment hallway for Chrissakes, out for everyone to see. Good, let 'em see, he decides. Let 'em see pathetic ol' Charlie Brown in Apt. 42, finally getting it on with the little red-headed girl.

She's shoving her hand down his pants when the lock finally gives, and they tumble through the door like an avalanche, only instead of being cold, they're both very much the opposite.

He pins her against the door before it even closes, his breath quick against her flushed pink cheek. "You think you're clever, don't you?" he admonishes.

She's a wriggly little thing beneath him, all groping hands and pouty lips and damn nipples still taunting him like bullies. Really, Scully's been a bully since the day he met her, dropping her robe and forcing him to carry _that_ around for the next seven years. But three weeks ago, she stopped being a bully and decided to play nice. Very nice. Extreeemely nice.

"You've known me a long time, Mulder," she breathes, "You're just now realizing I'm clever?" She's messing with his belt something frantic, and he wants to gobble up her smart little words, wants to gobble up the lips responsible for saying them, too. The lips in question curl into a smirk while his pants fall to the floor, and before he has time to do any gobbling, she's down there, too, tongue slick on the underside of his cock.

He grunts embarrassingly while she takes him inside, her tongue and her lips and her teeth quite clever indeed. She catches his eye and smiles, and it's about the cleverest thing he's ever seen, Miss Dana Scully, sucking on his dick like a lollipop.

"Unghhh," he groans, "You _are_ , aren't you?" His hands slam against the door for balance as she does something particularly fantastic with her tongue. "And naughty, too…nghh…wearing that out to dinner tonight…nghh…taunting me…" He restrains himself from bucking right into her mouth, but she's good, she's really fucking good at this.

"Mmmm," she murmurs around her purpled piece of candy, then releases it all with a 'pop'. "You mean this?" she simpers mock-innocently, eyebrow hopping aboard the bullying train now as she gestures down to her blouse. "I wasn't being naughty, Mulder…" She works her way back up between him and the door, rubbing her breasts shamelessly against his abdomen and chest. "In fact, I thought I was being extremely nice, don't you think?" Dammit, she's cute when she wants to be.

She reaches up to nibble at his jawline, angling those sharp little hips to tease at his cock, and he decides he's had enough. A guy can only take so much of a woman (this particular woman especially) looking like _this_ and behaving like _that_ before he explodes.

Gripping the meat of her tight little rear, he hoists her against the door. Hard. She yelps like a puppy, and that really doesn't sound clever at all, does it, but he doesn't care. He's always had a thing for cute little canines anyway, especially ones with big wet eyes and soft red fur, and a loyalty that'll knock you on your ass.

Her pumps fall quickly to the floor as his frenzied fingers work their way around the lace of her panties. She squirms around enticingly, pretending to help but really only making things harder. Literally. "See?" he growls, "Naughty."

"No…," she whispers, shoving his fingers out of the way while nipping at his neck. And then, through some magic feat of her hands and her hips, he's inside her. She hisses in his ear, "Niceeee."

"Yeah," he grunts. "Oh hell yeah." And then she's bouncing, gripping his waist between her sweet, toned thighs and bouncing. She's an impatient thing, isn't she, but he has no complaints, driving her up against the door with so much force, the hinges rattle. And god, it's good. She meets him with each quick thrust, melting against him, fitting herself around him until he's certain they've merged into one. Sometimes it's like that with her, so overwhelming he can barely breathe.

"Jesus," she gasps between moans, with closed eyes and swollen lips and hair damp at her temples. She's serious suddenly, serious and so damn concentrated. She gets like that, playfulness and light-hearted teasing tossed aside. Because nothing about this is light. This _thing_ with her is as heavy as it gets. She tugs him close, and then closer, until she's wrapped round his neck like a vine. Her teeth graze his throat while her short, sharp pants wet the skin at his collar. "Harder," she whispers, so he drives into her even deeper. He hears the sound of wood splintering and couldn't give a fuck.

"So good," she whimpers, "Christ, Mulder, it's so good…" There's the faintest little-girl pitch to her voice, and it almost brings him to his knees.

"C'mon," he groans against her hair, and her breaths grow impossibly quicker, high-pitched squeaks caught in the back of her throat, crescendo-ing with each new slam of his hips. Three weeks ago, those squeaks became his favorite sound in the world. "C'mon, baby, c'monnn…," he encourages. The door hinges whine in agony. She's whining, too, but for entirely different reasons, and he almost can't bear it, knowing he's reason number one.

"I…I…oh god…ohhh godddd…." He pounds into her until the goddamn door is rattling like a freight train, until her head is rolling against the wood, until finally, _finally_ , his name wrenches from her lungs in an agonized keen, and he almost wants to cry at how fucking breathtaking it all is.

When he's with her like this, every shitty thing that's ever happened in his life becomes inconsequential. She's alkaline to his acid, positive to his negative, every damn day of his life. She shudders violently in his arms, thighs clenching and hips pulsing, and there's no way in hell he wouldn't choose to follow right behind.

They collapse to the floor afterwards. His knees just aren't what they used to be, but her satisfied hums make it all worthwhile. They're a mess of tangled limbs and tangled clothes and tangled hearts lying there, and from the looks of it, tangled splinters of wood from the door. That's gonna require some maintenance.

On second thought though, he thinks maybe he'll leave it that way a while. The little red-headed girl may be his now, but the football's been yanked from beneath him so many times, he thinks ol' Charlie Brown may like the reminder.


End file.
